#baker caregiver

[bunnelbaby]

✨🍰 Baker Caregiver flags for caregivers who love baking, spoiling their regressors/dreamers with baked goodies and are sweet as can be (please reblog if you save)! 🍰✨

[ur-fav-is-agere]

Kojiro from SK8 The Infinity

Is a daddy/baker/cook caregiver!

[dearybuneary]

ೀ Baker Caregiver Patisserie Peach icons (please reblog if you save)! ೀ

(Overlay Credit)

[nostalgiclittlespace]

Hi 🙋‍♀️

How are you doing ?

I have a request- fandom : Disney’s the great mouse detective

Characters : Cg! Professor Ratigan & Little! Basil { infant/ baby age }

Little info : Basil is someone who would bottling up their regression to functions on his job or other "important " things unfortunately resulting in him involuntarily regressing in bad timings.

Story : Basil was involuntarily slipping while having a fight/argument with Ratigan, he noticed it right away and tried to pause the fight & take care of the little detective dispirited Basil protesting (involving biting). After the fit eased off, Ratigan was now comforting a now regressed Basil in his arms.

{ sorry if it’s too long, & take your time with it }, please ? 🥺

Ok, so first of all, I am so, so sorry for taking forever to finish this and I can’t thank you enough for your patience. Between work and sickness, the past month has been crazy. However, I hope you liked the finished product. It’s actually on of the longest request fics I’ve done at nearly 2000 words, so hopefully that makes up for the delay :)

Again, Thank you so much for your request and patience, and sorry for the wait! PS, I hope the characterizations are okay; I haven’t watched the movie in a hot minute! Also, it takes place in a post movie AU in which Ratigan lives and now he and Basil have a love-hate relationship. Enjoy!

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC. DNI IF NSFW, KINK, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST TO OTHER SITES.

Title: The Little Mouse Detective

Pairing: Little! Basil & CG! Professor Ratigan

Description: Basil, yet again, has been working too hard. Work has to come before his personal time, after all. Unfortunately, Professor Ratigan does not share his sentiment, especially after seeing how badly a case has worn the poor mouse out. (Takes place in a post-movie AU, in which Ratigan lives)

Word count: 1968

The Little Mouse Detective

Work came before regression.  That had been Basil’s rule since the beginning.

He had to put his work, his cases before his personal comfort sometimes.  Because sometimes their lives were on the line; he just couldn’t fathom being selfish enough to put his enjoyment above that!

However, while he had maintained that simple rule for himself since he began his work as a detective, admittedly circumstances had changed.  Namely being the presence of Professor Ratigan.

Ever since their confrontation at Big Ben, the two had reconciled.  Instead of allowing the professor to fall off the clock’s immeasurable heights, Basil had pulled him to safety, and thus the rivalry had changed.  Instead of sworn nemesis, they had an odd partnership.  Ratigan would occasionally show up or even work the cases alongside Basil.  

In some ways, this was a grand improvement over their previously perilous adventures together.  As long as Basil didn’t interfere with Raigan’s business, then the rat would offer his personal perspective and advice on the cases.  But on the other hand…

Unfortunately, Professor Ratigen did not share Basil’s sentiment of ‘work-life-balance-which-really-means-only-working.’  

“You should take a rest,” the professor would always note when he saw him scrubbing his eyes sleepily.  But Basil would never relent, even when his mind was far too foggy to make proper progress on his work.

“You are looking rather weary.  How are you supposed to keep up with me if you are in such a state?” Professor Ratigen would say after a long, tiring, and tough case.  “I’m fine,” Basil would always reply tersely, even when his emotions were running high and his exhaustion left him ready to cry.

Basil shook away his irritation, trying hard to refocus on his work.  Even if Ratigan doesn’t understand nor approve, I have more important things to worry about!  I can rest later.

He gazed upon his endless notes, determined to solve this case before taking any more personal time.  This was just too high-stakes to fathom taking a break!  A family of mice had their entire family fortune stolen–and they were counting on him to find it!  

His scatter-brained mind and strained eyes absorbed as much information as they could, staring at the papers strewn across the desk.  Even if his thoughts were only running at half their usual speed, something was far better than nothing.

Even as the night sky and its moon shooed away the sun, Basil did not take its invitation to rest.  Though the sun had long since set, though his whiskers and ears drooped with exhaustion, he did not allow himself to be deterred.

He didn’t bother looking up when the door opened and the familiar footsteps of Professor Ratigen filled the room.

“Working late again, Basil?” the rat noted.

“Mhm,” the mouse nodded without looking over.  His voice was small and tired when he responded.  “And what are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by,” Ratigan replied.  “Though I presumed you would be enjoying yourself and not working so late again.”

“This is important work,” Basil argued, beginning to nibble on his finger restlessly.

I have to finish this, Basil thought, despite the anxious, exhaustion pulling at his mind.  Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball, and rest.  Maybe gather a few small toys to keep himself busy, have a snack before tucking into bed for the night–

“You live to work, don’t you?” Ratigan huffed in disapproval.  “This is why I get goons to do my dirty work, you know.  So I can have time to relax.”

“Well unfortunately, I don’t have goons,” Basil huffed, feeling his temper rise.  

Ordinarily, he could keep a level head, but between his fatigue, cloudy mind, and Ratigan’s repeated insistence, he could feel his ire rising.  The urge to stomp his foot on the ground like a much younger child was high, though he resisted the temptation.  The last thing he needed was to give Ratigan another excuse as to why he should take a break.

“Perhaps you should find some,” the professor mused, “then you could afford some time off.  Though, finding some intelligent enough to connect the dots as you do might prove difficult.”

“Exactly.  I must do it myself, and will continue to do so,” Basil huffed, “so if you don’t mind I should like to get back to work.”

Professor Ratigan went silent for a moment, and the young mouse naively believed he had won the subtle argument.  However, much to his misfortune, Ratigan was not ready to put the issue to rest.

“Really, I don’t think it is wise for you to sacrifice your health when you are so obviously worn out–” Ratigan began, but Basil was quick to cut him off.

“I’m fine!” his voice came out harsh, frustrated, and childishly insisted.  “Leave me alone!”

Ratigan stared at him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them as Basil turned away again to focus on his writings.  However, as he re-read them for the tenth time that evening, the paper was abruptly snatched away from him by Ratigan.

“Give it back!” Basil cried, jumping up and trying to retrieve his notes.

“You may have them back tomorrow,” Ratigan replied curtly.  Basil didn’t take his insistence well.

“I won’t!  I want them back now!”

Much to Basil’s chagrin, he could feel his words become watery and slurred.  Not now, he lectured himself.  Taking care of this mouse family was far more important than whatever his brain was trying to do.  Nevermind its desire for peace and rest–that could wait until later.

Basil, being so much smaller than Professor Ratigan, struggled and failed to retrieve his papers as they were tucked neatly into one of his suit pockets.  Despite his growing hysteria as he clawed at the man’s shirt in vain attempts to find them, Ratigan remained mostly calm.  He stared down at his once-arch-nemesis with furrowed eyes, analyzing his every sluggish and uncoordinated movement.

“Give it back!” Basil tried to yell, but instead fat tears rolled down his cheeks to display his irritation.

“Not right now,” Ratigan replied coolly.  “For now, you will rest and take care of yourself for once.  If you have any plans on stopping my schemes or someone else’s, then you must be at the right mental capacity for it.  You will rest.”

“No I won’t,” Basil argued, this time not resisting the urge to stomp his foot on the ground.  

When Ratigan’s infuriatingly calm expression did not change, only looking concerned and curious, Basil collapsed to the ground in utter bitterness.  He flopped over and scowled deeply while his watery eyes leaked more tears down his face.  He wanted to lecture himself over his weakness; his face dragged down by exhaustion mixed with this display of emotion must look positively pathetic to Ratigan.  However, Basil could not find the words nor the motivation, his focus narrowed to the fact that he hadn’t gotten his way.

Initially, Ratigan did not move.  Standing over the mouse detective’s wilted form, he wanted a long moment for him to bounce back to his normal self.  After all, Basil was never one to take defeat, especially not in such an emotional manner.  That being said, it didn’t take a genius to reason that he had overworked himself to an extreme yet again.  It had undoubtedly worn down on him, and these were clearly signs he had regressed–something Ratigan had not witnessed him do for quite some time.

Ratigan kept his tone even and neutral as he leaned closer to the mouse, “don’t you see that you need a rest?  Let me help you to your bed and–”

“No!” Basil whined as Ratigan tried to pull him to his feet.  Frightened and offended by the sudden touch, he did the only thing he could think of: sinking his sharp teeth into the professor’s hand, which had grabbed his forearm.

Ratigan hissed in surprise as the young mouse bit him, and he fought to keep his own feelings under control.  Normally, he would not tolerate such an attack, but reminding himself of Basil’s current mental state, he kept his cool.

Carefully and wincing, he pried Basil’s jaw open.  Only for it to snap closed again the moment he attempted to pull his hand out of his mouth.

“Basil,” Ratigan muttered, tone even but serious.  He kept with his same statement, “you need to rest.”

“Noooo,” Basil whined between clenched teeth.  He tried to swat away Ratigan’s free hand, the one currently attempting to open his mouth, but his uncoordinated movements did nothing against the rat.

“Rest,” Ratigan repeated.  “You have worked hard and done well, but at the expense of your own health.  We can discuss a plan for your future work schedule another time; now is not the moment to debate it.  However, now is the time for you to calm yourself.”

Basil stared up at him, his eyes batting tearfully as he processed his words.  His body bounced with sobs.  His jaw gradually loosened, releasing poor Ratigan’s fingers from his powerful, toothy grip.

Cautiously, in case Basil decided to bite him again, the professor drew his fingers away from the mouse’s mouth.  Thankfully, no such attack occurred.  

Instead, Basil slumped over completely, giving up control over his enervated muscles.  Entirely limp, he curled into a miserable pile on the floor; and he looked perfectly miserable.  

The mouse whined quietly to himself.  His mind was far too drained to process any of the swarming feelings in the chest except for one: tired.

He forgot all about the work he was ‘supposed to’ be doing, solely focused on the concept of a nap.  To rest.

His subconscious argued otherwise, nagging at him to pull himself together; there were people who needed him for goodness sake…

But he couldn’t bear to do it.  He couldn’t bring himself to gather off the floor, to argue with Ratigan until he returned the papers, or to complete the heavy quest of returning his focus to the present moment.  His body and mind had betrayed him instead as they went completely slack and refused to move forward.

“Are you ready to rest then?” Ratigan inquired, taking in the sight of the detective.

It took several seconds for Basil to process what the words meant, then he gave a single, slow nod.  Rest.  Yes, please.

This time Ratigan was much more careful in his approach, kneeling beside Basil on the ground.  He waited a few seconds for signs of hostility, but was only met by extreme fatigue.  And, when the mouse gave no further responses, other than closing his eyes wearily, Ratigan dragged Basil into his arms.  He kept his movements slow and sure, just in case he startled him, but Basil seemed far too tired to care about anything he did.

“The floor is hardly the place to sleep,” Ratigan remarked.  “Perhaps it would be best if I took you to bed.”

Whatever Basil thought of the idea, he gave no indicative response.  He remained entirely limp, allowing himself to be lifted off the floor and against Professor Ratigan’s larger form.  Even if he did want to put up a fight, he would doubtfully do any good in his current state.

Not that he’s really ‘want’ to anyway.  Ratigan was surprisingly gentle and careful as he lifted him off the ground; an action he never would have imagined coming from his former enemy.  Basil even remained completely relaxed as he was carried out of his study, away from the work that had taunted his overworked mind for so long.

“That’s it; rest,” Ratigan’s voice rumbled through his half-asleep thoughts.  “Your work will be ready when you are.”

With that, Basil couldn’t fight off his sleep any longer and succumbed to its peaceful invitation.

[warmmilku]

Morning at the bakery 🧡

[toonjuiced]

caregivers jack & marguerite baker 📻🌾 [ x x x ]

note — the fanart above is from a really sweet au called washed up where ethan is rescued by the bakers instead of eveline. i’ve not read it but i adore the few art pieces i’ve seen from the author, this being one of them!!

[update after i looked more into it, the fic has jack/ethan content, so avoid if need be!]

you go berry picking with marguerite. there’s a lot of raspberry, blackberry, and strawberry bushes in the yard during the summer

afterwards, you help her bake tarts and pies. (jack’s favorite is blackberry, so that gets made a lot)

she makes a lot of stuff. some of the best is apple cobbler, beignets, & iced tea. you don’t know what makes her iced tea so good but it’s the best ever on ice during a hot day. jack makes killer gumbo

jack takes you out for rides in the four wheeler

you like to stick your hand out of the side to touch the leaves, but sometimes you end up getting pricked by a thorn

he always soothes you with a kiss to the spot before bringing you home to get bandaged up. he’ll talk the whole time and point out stuff in the fields to keep you distracted

marguerite’s the one to put the band-aid on. she teasingly scolds jack for taking you out there, which makes you laugh

sometimes you help marguerite in the greenhouse!!

she keeps a close eye on you around all the equipment but loves watching how much you enjoy playin in the dirt.

jack helps you clean up afterwards

you spend a lot of time sitting at the dining table while marguerite cooks

they live on farmland that gets rented out and used, so a lot of their produce comes from that

marguerite has a room in the basement where she stores preserves and pickled things, but it scares you because it’s the basement.

jack has a room down there that you aren’t allowed in alone when you’re regressed (he’s got a fermentation room. mostly mead and moonshine, the latter of which gets incorporated into some of marguerite’s preserves)

whenever you go through the drawing room you pet the taxidermy deer, which jack thinks is very sweet

he takes you out to the stands in the field, of course not to hunt, but to watch the deer and other animals from up high

when it’s time for bed jack will scoop you up and carry you there in an instant if you ask. marguerite insists he spoils you (and he’ll shoot right back with some comment about how she always gives you extra dessert)

you fall asleep a lot to the sound of the radio or the television in the other room. sometimes, it gets drowned out by rain on the roof, but that’s just as comforting

you get to go out on the boat! jack takes you for rides around the swamp and sometimes marguerite comes along

the three of you never go out very far. jack will stop where the water is shallow so you can wade out and catch crawfish and watch the herons

when it rains and the backyard gets all muddy, marguerite will help you get your boots on so you can go out and splash around and chase frogs

there’s always something to do in the house, even if that’s just simply running around from room to room and seeing what’s happening where

you like to play pool, even if you aren’t really sure how. the sound the pool balls make when they click together is really nice!

the recreation room is a sweet place to be because of the balconies, even if you aren’t allowed behind the bar

they’re really silly when you’re with them both in the same room. very doting and will give you lots of attention

sometimes on a really nice summer evening you’ll have a bonfire, and afterwards, you’ll come inside smelling like smoke

jack turns the gramophone on and you fall asleep on the couch underneath jack’s coat to the music and him and marguerite talking softly to each other

[pwrn51]

Diving into the World of Music Therapy

  Today’s featured guest is Alexis Baker, MT-BC, a Certified Dementia Practitioner and the Founder/Owner of Bridgetown Music Therapy, LLC located in Portland, Oregon. Alexis joins us to delve in as a  Board Certified Music Therapist, shedding light on the extensive education and training required for this profession. Additionally, she elaborates on the pivotal role of a Music Therapist in…

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope

Based off a world where everyone gets a Destiny they must fulfill. Bakers and Demon Kings (x) and Villagers (X). You? You are a Hero.

----------------

You are a Hero.

Nobody at the orphanage knows. The mark sets during the worst winter in three decades, when the windows have to be barred to prevent snow spirits from ripping them to shreds and the Director takes half the reserves and runs in the middle of the night.

Sarah, the only caregiver left in the rickety building, holds as many of the kids as she can while the snow spirits scream outside. You’d love to be in the circle of her arms, but you’re holding the door shut with as much strength as your eight-year-old arms allow.

She doesn’t tell you to get away from the door.

“It’s alright,” she says, voice trembling. Her brown hair, matted from the months indoors, hides her eyes. She croons to the younger kids like a bird, so softly and gently that you have to strain to hear it over the howling demons and roaring winds. “We’ll be okay. Our land’s Lord will send a Hero, you’ll see. We’ll be okay then.”

Your arms burn as intensely as your eyes. A Hero. Your stomach aches from hunger and your fingers sting from the cold. You aren’t sure how much good you’re doing keeping the door closed, but there’s something deep inside of you that tells you you must do something. The blows from the snow spirits outside vibrate up your arms, nearly throwing you back.

Heroes, you think, only matter if they show up.

Hope is traumatic. Eight-years-old and you’ve been returned from potential families twice. Three days ago, you found the beginnings of greenery in the woods behind the orphanage. When you excitedly raced back to tell the others that winter was ending, it was only to find the Director and most of the caregivers gone with a significant portion of the rations.

Then the storm clouds rolled in.

So that long, dangerous night, you don’t hope. You shut your ears to Sarah’s gentle comforts and the snow spirits’ shrieks. You focus on the burning in your arms, the blisters forming on your heels, the cold nipping at your fingers.

Hope is traumatic but trying is something you can do. You put your small body between all of the horrors outside the door and the other kids. You try to stand firm.

You don’t notice when the burning in your arms hides the arrival of a telling mark on your left bicep.

---------------------.

You are fourteen years old, one year shy of coming into your power, when a couple visits the orphanage intending to adopt.

Sarah is now the Director of the orphanage, awarded the position by the land’s Lord after that terrible winter six years ago. She’s different than she was then. You lost three kids to hunger before spring finally came and she held each one in their last moments.

You and Sarah never develop the close relationship she has with the other kids. But she always makes sure you have more meat in your meals than most and, when you hunt in the woods, you always let her decide how the food will be divided between dinner and winter stores.

“We’re Knights,” the potential adopters tell the Director. They’re a couple, a man and a woman with dark hair and muscular bodies. “Retired. We’re settling just north of here for good and are looking for a suitable child who can follow in our footsteps.”

Director Sarah looks at them coldly, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands over her stomach. If she notices you and two of the younger kids peeking through the crack in the door, she doesn’t say anything. “I apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Bahr, but it seems there’s a misunderstanding. We do not pair children with families based on their Destiny.”

“We’re not saying you do,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her gaze is cutting though her shoulders are relaxed. “Our Lord explained before we came. However, there is no rule against asking the children their Destiny, is there?”

Loophole. You pull away from the crack in the door, letting Hera and Josiah take your spot. You lean against the wall with your eyes closed. Orphanages aren’t allowed to disclose Destinies, but that’s where the protection ends. If someone sees a child’s Destiny or learns of it through some other means, that’s alright.

These people aren’t here to adopt because they want a child. They’re here to adopt for a guarantee. A guarantee of what remains to be seen. An heir like they claim? A prodigy for status? Or a weapon for them to control?

You listen for any other clues behind their motives, but the Bahrs don’t push the issue of Destiny again. They accept Director Sarah’s schedule for meeting the kids, even offering to host a picnic day at their estate as a treat. The couple wants to gain trust, you can tell, and by the end of the meeting it’s working.

Director Sarah sees them off to the door herself.

“We’ll wait for the invitation,” she says. She’s older now, her thin brown hair showing the beginning signs of going grey. But her handshake looks strong when she shakes Mrs. Bahr’s in farewell. “I’m sure the children will be thrilled.”

“I hope so,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her husband nods to the Director gravely, but Mrs. Bahr lingers. “I’m sorry if we came off a little…forward when we mentioned Destinies. Please believe me when I say that my husband and I aren’t so shallow. We are looking for a child ��� one we can call our own.”

“I see,” Director Sarah says. There’s a hint of warmth in her voice. “As I said, we look forward to your invitation.”

Mrs. Bahr nods and joins her husband in their carriage. They set off down the road without once having asked to meet one of the children on the first day of their introduction.

You can tell Sarah likes them.

“What do you think?” Sarah asks. She doesn’t turn from the road, even though the Bahr’s carriage is out of sight. “Isla?”

You don’t ask how she knows it’s you lurking in the shadows of the orphanage. Director Sarah is a Guardian. Her senses are elevated when it comes to those under her charge.

“I don’t think anything,” you say. You step out from around the corner with a sigh. No use hiding now. “They’re influential people if they were recommended here by the Lord himself. We’re fortunate.”

��You’re the right age for a Knight’s apprenticeship,” Sarah says.

“Hera hasn’t shown me her Destiny, but it’s probably something suitable,” you say. Hera is ten, one of the older kids at the orphanage. Last summer she lifted Josiah, only a year younger than her and already a head taller, out of the well before he could drown. “You should talk to her about what being part of a Knight family could mean.”

Sarah looks at you over her shoulder. The setting sun catches in her eyes, turning the warm brown into an unearthly amber. “I hope you can accept the possibility they might choose you.”

They won’t. “Aren’t I needed here?” you ask.

Sarah’s expression softens. “You are, Isla,” she says. She weighs her next words carefully. “But I am the one who’s responsible for all of you. I can take care of everyone. If the Bahr family is a good fit…”

“Sure,” you say flippantly. You shove your hands in your pockets and slink back into the orphanage. You don’t dare hope. “I’m going to help Josiah.” He’s on dinner duty tonight. He always cuts the onions too roughly. “See you later.”

You feel Sarah’s eyes on your back like a physical warmth.

-----------.

Being a Hero doesn’t change anything about you. You expected it to when you first noticed the mark but, even six years later, nothing’s different.

You aren’t kinder. When Josiah asks for your dessert, you steal a bit of his as punishment for even asking. When Hera asks for a bedtime story, you tell her one so scary that she has to sleep with one of the other girls. When Sarah asks you to fix the fence around the chickens, you whine and complain that you’re the only one who does anything around the orphanage.

“The curse of being the oldest,” Sarah says dryly. She hands you a hammer and a bucketful of nails. “Some posts were dropped off at the end of the lane. Make sure you’re back by sunset.”

Maybe you’re a little stronger than others. You can drag three posts at once and could probably drag more if you wanted. But another curse of being a Hero is that you’re very aware.

It’s not until you’re nailing a third rail to the fence that Mr. Bahr makes his presence known. You don’t turn even when he makes his steps purposefully heavy to avoid scaring you.

“You’re very strong,” Mr. Bahr says.

His shadow is long and thin, just like him. You observe it from your peripherals, unable to speak with the two nails you’re holding between your lips. You take your time pounding them into the wood. He’s arms, a sword at his hip, but his hands are loose at his sides.

“Good thing I am,” you say at last. You stand and turn in the same motion. He waited for you to finish without chastising you for not speaking right away. You perch the hammer on your shoulder. “Otherwise, the chickens would take over.”

Mr. Bahr laughs. Unlike when he was meeting Director Sarah, his face is relaxed and open. His blue eyes sparkle. “We couldn’t have that now, could we? I suppose we all owe you our thanks for preventing the coop’s coup.”

You want to laugh. You don’t. “Director Sarah won’t like you being here uninvited.”

“I just came to drop off an invitation,” Mr. Bahr says. He studies you for a moment and then smiles. “I hope you’ll accept, Isla.”

A chill races down your spine. How does he know your name? You wipe the sweat from your brow with a scowl. “Maybe I don’t want to be adopted.”

To your surprise, Mr. Bahr nods. “I can understand that,” he says. He looks up at the sky. The light is sliding from the sky, catching on the clouds and turning them a brilliant orange. When he looks back at you, he almost looks…sad. “Think of our invitation as a party, hm? No strings attached.”

For some reason your tongue feels heavy. It takes two tries before you can say, “I need to fix this part of the fence before dark.”

“Want some help?” Mr. Bahr asks.

“I couldn’t ask—”

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Mr. Bahr says. He rolls up his sleeves and nimbly plucks the hammer from your grip. “I may be a Knight, but I’ve done my fair share of carpentry. Let me show you a few tricks.”

You listen quietly as Mr. Bahr shows you how to twist the nails to avoid splitting the wood. What would have taken you an hour to finish, he accomplishes in a quarter of one, talking to you the entire time.

It’s…odd to have an adult’s attention on you for such a long time. He’s careful not to get too close, always offering you the hammer to practice by setting it on the grass between you rather than handing it to you directly. When you manage to replicate his technique on your second try, Mr. Bahr is more excited than you are.

“Wonderful,” he compliments. He glances up at the sky. The first stars are twinkling. “I’ll be going now and you should too. Have a good night, Isla.”

Unlike the first time he said your name, it feels pleasant now. You mutter a goodbye and leave before he does, scurrying towards the orphanage with your bucket of nails clutched to your chest.

He’s gone when you think to check the road for his carriage. Did he walk here? Ride a horse?

You close and lock the orphanage’s doors behind you.

----------------.

The picnic isn’t scheduled until the middle of summer and it’s spring now. Still, it’s all anyone can talk about.

“We have plenty of time to get ready,” Director Sarah tells them. “The Bahrs will be dropping in from time to time until then. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior when they’re here.”

Josiah raises his hand. “I hear they live in a castle!”

“A manor,” Sarah corrects. “Given to them by our Lord for their years of service.”

“The Guard in town says they worked for the King once!” Hera says, wiggling in her seat. “Is that true?”

“You can ask them yourself,” Sarah says. She claps her hands together and starts urging the kids up. “It’s time for chores. Your assignment is posted by the kitchen…”

You stay seated at the breakfast table. You haven’t eaten your third egg or your last slice of toast. Your stomach feels queasy. You keep thinking about Mr. Bahr saying wonderful when you worked on the fence together.

You aren’t supposed to want to be adopted. You’ve had your chance and you ruined it both times. It’s not fair of you to imagine what it would be like learning swordsmanship from Mr. Bahr and what it’d be like to hear him praise you when you got the next move right. One of the other kids deserve that chance.

You can only do what you can do.

---------------.

Mrs. Bahr is alone the next visit.

No one recognizes her at first. She’s wearing a gown like a noble and her hair is gently flowing down her back rather than tightly pinned behind her head.

“I’ve received the Director’s permission to hold a lesson on writing,” she tells the children. She gestures to the bag she’s set on the table. “Come get a slate and a piece of chalk. We will work all together.”

The kids have never had slate and chalk before, not the real ones anyway. Sometimes you find a nice, flat rock they can draw on with charcoal, but it’s not as entertaining as what Mrs. Bahr brings. She watches everyone in amusement as they immediately start drawing instead of starting the lesson, flower and trees and swords.

“Look, Isla,” Hera says, tugging at your sleeve. You’re seated on the spare chair by the wall, away from the table. She twists from her spot to show you she’s drawn a shaky stick figure. “It’s you!”

Your eyes flick up to Mrs. Bahr. She’s not irritated by the distractions yet. You point with your bit of chalk at the drawing. “Which part of it is me?”

Hera points at a blob in the stick figure’s hand. “That’s the horned rabbit you brought home yesterday!”

You snort. The horned rabbit you’d killed yesterday wasn’t half the size of your body. “Are you sure that’s a horned rabbit? Looks like a turtle to me.”

Hera points to the stick figure’s face. “You can also tell it’s you ‘cause you’re frowning.”

“Hey!”

Mrs. Bahr claps her hands together. Instantly, she has the room’s attention. “I’m glad you all like my present. However, it’s time to get started.”

“Present?” Josiah asks.

“If you work hard today, you will be allowed to keep the slate and chalk as a present,” Mrs. Bahr says. She takes care to make eye contact with every kid. “Only those who work hard.”

It’s generous. You watch Mrs. Bahr from under your lashes as she talks everyone through writing the alphabet. It’s too generous not to be genuine. Try as you might, you can’t figure out any ulterior motive to spending so much on the kids. To look good? For who? For Director Sarah?

Director Sarah won’t be swayed by gifts like this even if the kids could be.

Mrs. Bahr stops well away from you, observing your slate from afar. “Very good, Isla. Do you know how to write?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Read?”

“Only a little.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. She doesn’t look disgusted by your stupidity or put off by your clipped tone. Your first family returned you when you told them. Mrs. Bahr’s lips curve. “Your letters are wonderfully steady. I can tell you will be a very good student.”

She turns before she can see you flush.

---------.

Over the next few months, there isn’t a week that goes by without at least one of the Bahrs visiting. They become a regularity around the orphanage to the point that even Director Sarah stops worrying about the state of their rooms with every visit.

“Kids will be kids,” Mrs. Bahr says when you ask her to wait while you tidy the toys in the parlor. “It’s alright, Isla.”

Your head spins. Sometimes, when one of them says something particularly bizarre, you feel like you’re outside your body. There was a time when they didn’t have toys to leave out in the visiting area. Thanks to the Bahrs, every child has a doll, a slate, a new set of shoes, and an abacus. You are still waiting for the strings that come with these presents.

There haven’t been any yet.

The kids love the Bahrs. Hera insists on baking fresh strawberry tarts for them after a day of gathering. Josiah carefully sounds out passages from their new books to show them that he’s still practicing his letters. Annie and a group of the younger kids spend all day weaving a flower crown for Mrs. Bahr that you have to confiscate before they can put it on her head.

“Go wash your hands,” you scold. Despite your tone, your hands are gentle as you push Annie to the schoolhouse. “Don’t touch your eyes.”

Annie blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t know it was poison, lady, I swear.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Bahr says, hand fluttering over her heart. She steps towards Annie. “Dear one—”

You give full body flinch when Mrs. Bahr stoops to hug Annie, but you don’t get between them. The Bahrs have won your trust in this. They won’t hurt the kids.

You sigh to hide your flinch when Mrs. Bahr stands. “Now Mrs. Bahr needs to wash. Poison ivy is no joke.”

“It is not,” Mrs. Bahr agrees. She ruffles Annie’s hair. “Go on, do as Isla says. Wash up.”

“We can go together,” Annie says with her big, blue eyes. She reaches for Mrs. Bahr’s hand and then thinks better of it. She tucks her hands behind her back and kicks at the ground. “If you want.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Mrs. Bahr says, smiling.

Annie nods and races to follow her friends.

“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as Annie is out of ear shot. You busy yourself picking up the fallen flower crown and the various trimmings of poison ivy they’d used for foliage throughout it. You feel flustered. “They really didn’t know any better—”

“I know,” Mrs. Bahr says so gently that you have to look up at her. She’s frowning at your hands. “I’m more concerned about you. Should you be holding onto it like that?’

“I’m immune,” you say. You’re not worried that she’ll guess your Destiny from that. Lots of Villagers are immune to poison ivy, particularly the ones in this region who rely on gathering and hunting. “Since I’m in the woods so much.”

“Knights are immune too,” Mrs. Bahr says. She follows you away from the orphanage and to the tree line. “You’re quite the hunter, aren’t you? I remember Hera saying you slayed a horned rabbit.”

Heat comes to your face. You stomp ahead of her to deposit the flower crown in some denser foliage where the kids won’t be able to get it. “I get lucky.”

“I’d consider it unlucky to run across a horned rabbit,” Mrs. Bahr says. She examines the forest with interest. “A demon is a demon. Even adults have difficulty with horned rabbits.”

It hadn’t been difficult. You’d been armed with a sharpened branch and, when the rabbit leapt for you, you knew right when to stab. You clear your throat. “It was difficult.” Then when Mrs. Bahr doesn’t say anything, you add, “It was frightening.”

She believes you. She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder to get you to look her in the face. “The orphanage budget is enough that you don’t need to hunt, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I know I don’t like the idea of a fourteen-year-old out here alone and unarmed.”

“Almost fifteen,” you say, “and I had a sharp stick.”

“A sharp sti—” Mrs. Bahr cuts herself off with a deep breath. “Regardless of your…aptitude, Isla, it’s dangerous. I’ve spoken to the Director and she agrees with me. You aren’t to go hunting anymore.”

The forest suddenly feels too hot. The leaves overhead rustle, but you can barely hear it over the roaring of your blood. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Bahr steps closer. “You’re a very strong girl, Isla, but it’s dangerous. If you want to go out with me or Mr. Bahr—”

You shake off her hand. “The Director agreed with you? She said I’m not allowed to go hunting anymore?”

“Out of concern for your safety.” Mrs. Bahr looks like she regrets saying anything. “Once Mr. Bahr and I explained to her what a risk a horned rabbit poses—”

You run away. Mrs. Bahr calls out after you, but you don’t stop. Beyond the sting of Mr. and Mrs. Bahr not thinking you strong enough to hunt, there’s a deeper hurt. The Director agrees. Really? Really?

“Isla? What’s wrong? I thought you were with Mrs. Bahr,” Director Sarah says when you burst into her office. She sets the papers she’d been reading down and frowns. “You look—”

“I’m not supposed to go hunting anymore?” you ask.

Sarah’s face blooms in understanding. “After what Mr. and Mrs. Bahr said about the increase in demons in the area, I agreed—”

“It’s summer,” you interrupt. You stalk up to her desk, your fists balled at your side. “It’s time to hunt.”

“The Bahrs have agreed to accompany you—”

“They only come once a week,” you say. You’re being so incredibly rude to the Director, but you don’t care. “I need to hunt three times that at least. The game has been moving deeper into the forest—”

“Where you are not allowed to go,” Director Sarah says, this time interrupting you. She steeples her hands in front of her. “I should have curtailed this activity long before this point, but I thought you needed it.”

“We need it,” you say. You can’t believe what you are hearing. “We need to store up rations, you know that.”

“Our budget allows us to purchase rations in town.”

“But what if that’s not enough? It’s better to have our own supply—”

“It will be enough.”

“It still doesn’t hurt to have some extra jerky—”

“The store we have will be enough.”

“But what if it’s not?!” You’ve raised your voice without realizing it, fists shaking at your sides. “The other kids are too young to remember o-or too new, but you and I do. That winter, we didn’t have enough. Why are you trying to stop me?” To your horror, your voice cracks. “I thought you understood.”

There’s silence in the room except for your panting breath.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah finally says. The sudden apology is enough to close your mouth against what you might have said. She meets your eyes. “You’ve always been so strong that I…Isla, you were a child. I will always be grateful for what you did that winter and for every winter since. I relied on you, a child, because I didn’t have any other option. We didn’t have another option. But now we do. We’re okay now, Isla. You don’t have to work so hard to protect us.”

“Yes, I do, I’m—” the Hero “—I can do it.” There is something inside of you telling you that that is what you must do. You think that it’s part of being a Hero.

((You’re worried that it’s because you’re scared.))

“My decision is final,” Sarah says. She picks up her documents and straightens them. “You are only to go hunting with an adult from now on. If I find out you went to the woods without one, there will be consequences.”

She’s using the same tone she uses on the other kids when they’re misbehaving. I mean business. You stare at her for a long, breathless moment. You jerkily turn to go.

Mrs. Bahr is hovering in the doorway. She looks guiltily between you and Director Sarah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”

You shove past her and run to your room.

-------------.

Somewhat counterintuitively, as an orphan you’re never alone. You throw yourself face down on your bed.

A shocked silence swallows the occupants on the other bed.

“Is she okay?” Josiah asks Hera.

“It’s Isla,” Hera answers. There’s the rustling of bedsheets as Hera climbs out of bed and then the soft sound of socks on hardwood as she comes over. “You okay?”

You are not okay. There’s an intense war of emotions in your chest. Anger that none of the adults seem to think you’re capable. Betrayal that Sarah isn’t on your side. A sick fear at the thought of being unprepared for winter. And, now that you’ve run away so spectacularly, shame. They probably think you’re overreacting, but they’re wrong. They’re the ones who are being naïve. They’re the ones who—

A gentle hand on the back of your head freezes the thought. Hera pets your short, black hairs in an attempt at comfort. “It’s okay, Isla. You can just sleep. Sleep makes everything better.”

That’s what you tell the younger kids. The difference between you and Hera saying it? When Hera falls asleep, you work to fix the problem. If you fall asleep, no one is going to fix the problem for you.

You flip over, dislodging Hera’s hand. You look up at her as if seeing her for the first time. She’s ten, two years older than you were when the winter happened. She was four then. You want to ask her if she remembers, but instead you ask, “Do you think Sarah hates me?”

“What?” Hera’s eyes are wide. “No! What makes you think that?”

“Nothing,” you say. “It’s stupid. Forget I asked.” You turn on your side, your back to them.

“I know she’s worried about you,” Josiah says. He offers the information tentatively. “I overheard her and the Bahrs talking. Did they ban you from the woods?”

You don’t move. “What else did they say?” You’re afraid that he’s going to say they called you weak. Or, worse, a nuisance. “Did they say anything else about me?”

“Not really.”

Nobody hears anything useful around here. You close your eyes. “I just want to be alone for a little while. I—”

There’s a knock on the door. “Isla? It’s me, Marie. Can I come in?”

Marie? Too late you remember that that’s Mrs. Bahr’s name. She’s been trying to get the kids to call her be her first name. So far no one’s taken her up on it and she hasn’t pushed.

Hera opens the door. “Hi, Mrs. Bahr. Isla is being moody.”

You sit up with a squawk. “I am not!”

“If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to Isla for a moment,” Mrs. Bahr says to Josiah and Hera. “Alone.”

“Don’t let her yell at you,” Hera says as she passes Mrs. Bahr. “She never means it.”

You are going to strangle her. “I don’t yell!”

“That’s not an inside voice,” Josiah says. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, pulling the door closed behind him and Hera.

You are suddenly alone in the room with Mrs. Bahr.

You sit up further, pressing your back against the headboard. Mrs. Bahr doesn’t look mad. Her hands are clasped in front of her and she’s looking down at the floor. It almost looks like she’s the nervous one. You hug your pillow to your chest. “You can sit down if you’d like.”

Mrs. Bahr looks up at you. Her lips twitch. “Thank you, Isla.” She sits down on Hera’s bed gingerly as if afraid it wouldn’t be able to take her wait. When she’s settled, she says, “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Your arms tighten around your pillow. “Why?”

“Not for saying you shouldn’t hunt alone,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s not a mind reader but sometimes it seems like she is. “For not understanding what hunting means to you. I would have approached things differently if I’d known.”

“Known what?”

“About what you’ve been through.”

The winter. That’s the only thing Mrs. Bahr could be talking about. She must have heard more of your conversation (argument) with the Director than you thought. “It was a long time ago,” you say. You really don’t want to talk about this with Mrs. Bahr. Not when you can still feel that winter’s desperation in your molars like a memory. “I’m fine.”

Mrs. Bahr is quiet for a moment. She studies you much like Mr. Bahr did all those weeks ago mending the fence. “I was a knight for 30 years, you know. I supposed it’s not weird that a Knight worked as a knight for so long. As soon as I came into my power at 15, I was compelled to hold a sword. To seek out evils and defeat them. To follow my Lord into battle no matter the cause.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I’ve had a lot of adventures and helped many, many people. But there was a time when I wanted to quit.”

You start. “You did?”

“I wanted to work in a flower shop,” Mrs. Bahr says. She leans back on her hands. “What a life it could have been! Waking up before the sun and hiking to the flower fields…I had my new house all picked out. It’d have a koi pond and a row of red rocks from the Harrow River. That’s where I met Ivan.”

Mr. Bahr. He’s been trying to get you to call him by his first name too. Unlike Mrs. Bahr, he’s much pushier about it. “What made you want to quit?”

“Exhaustion,” Mrs. Bahr says. She closes her eyes. “It seemed that there was a new threat to my Lord every day. An assassination attempt from a branch family. A territorial dispute. A new influx of demon beasts. It got to the point that I hardly left my Lord’s side for fear of returning to find him dead. He was the first Lord I swore my loyalty to. I always felt like I was failing those days. So I wanted to quit.”

You’ve felt like that before. Sometimes it seems like you never catch enough while hunting, that you’re never kind enough, that you’re never strong enough. You’ve never thought about working in a flower shop though. “Why didn’t you?”

“I did.” Mrs. Bahr laughs at your shocked expression. “I was in my twenties. They tell you things calm down after your teen years, but that’s not true. I handed in my resignation and fled for the nearest town.” Her smile softens. “Ivan followed me.”

“He was there?”

Mrs. Bahr nods. “We were sworn to the same Lord. He came galloping up with my resignation clutched in his hand. His face was so red!” She laughs. “’What does this mean, Marie? He was crying! You can’t quit! I haven’t beaten you yet!’”

“And that’s what convinced you to stay a knight?” you ask. That doesn’t help you. You don’t have a significant other to come racing after you.

“No,” Mrs. Bahr said. “Ivan didn’t know why I wanted to quit. I can’t do it, I said. I can’t keep the Lord safe. I’m not enough. You know what he said?”

You shake your head.

“He said, Of course, you’re not enough,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s lowering her voice in imitation of Ivan’s. “You were never going to be enough.” You’re gaping at his harsh words, but Mrs. Bahr looks amused. “That’s why we have a squadron. The job is too big for one person. All you need to do is your part.”

You stare at her, not understanding.

“The world isn’t carried by one person,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I was so convinced that everything was up to me – the Lord’s safety, the next campaign’s success, or defense from monsters – that I buckled under the pressure. What I didn’t see that it wasn’t all my responsibility. I was part of a team. All I had to do was one part.”

You think of the winter night and holding the door shut. There hadn’t been anyone to help you then. Someone needed to comfort the younger kids. Someone needed to try and protect them. “What if there isn’t anyone else?”

“Then we do our best,” Mrs. Bahr says immediately. She meets your eyes. “But are you by yourself now, Isla?”

Yes. You open your mouth to tell her that, but the word won’t come out. Are you? Director Sarah looked so defeated when you accused her of not understanding. But didn’t she understand better than anyone else. You swallow. “No. There’s Director Sarah.”

“What does she do?”

“She takes care of us,” you say. “She makes sure the money we get goes to the right things.”

Mrs. Bahr smiles warmly. “That’s right. Who else?”

“…Hera,” you say. You remember she pulled Josiah from the well before Annie even had the chance to tell you what had happened. “She watches the younger kids.”

“She’s very good with them,” Mrs. Bahr says. “Who else?”

Your mind blanks. Who else? “Josiah. He helps us study.”

“And?”

And? “T-the Lord. He makes sure we have the funds for what we need.”

“Including winter provisions,” Mrs. Bahr agrees.

You frown. You suddenly see where this is going. “The amount of winter provisions he thinks we need.”

Mrs. Bahr hums. “What happens if he’s wrong?”

“That’s why I hunt,” you say. Maybe now she’ll understand. “So that we’ll be okay if he’s wrong.”

“What if you don’t hunt enough?” Mrs. Bahr asks.

Your chest is tight. You rub at your sternum and try to breathe deeply. “We starve,” you say. You wheeze and then clear your throat. “We’d starve, but that’s not going to happen. Because I always hunt enough.” I have to.

“This year,” Mrs. Bahr says, voice gentle and soothing, “say you don’t hunt anymore. The winter is harsher than expected and the orphanage’s stores are depleted. What do you think will happen?”

You laugh and gasp at the same time. “They’d all starve,” you say again. What doesn’t she get about that? “First the little ones then—”

Mrs. Bahr is shaking her head. “No, Isla, that’s not what would happen.”

Your temper flares. “That’s what always—”

“What would happen,” Mrs. Bahr says in her even tone, “is that Mr. Bahr and I would come deliver extra provisions to you.”

All the air is chased from your lungs. You feel eight again, small and vulnerable and cold. You’re shivering as you stare at her. “You would?”

“We would.” Gently, as if afraid she might scare you, Mrs. Bahr moves from Hera’s bed to yours. She puts a warm hand on your knee. “We’re a fortress. The Lord gives us part of the emergency fund in order to keep our stores and grounds ready for refugees. Mr. Bahr keeps fifteen percent more than the most generous estimate out of an abundance of caution. We would come and make sure nobody starved.”

For some reason, that makes you want to cry. You blink against the sudden heat behind your eyes. “Oh.”

“That’s why we don’t want you to go hunting,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her thumb rubs over your knee. “It was worth the risk before. You worked hard to keep everyone here alive. You are incredible, for that, Isla. I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength and your bravery. But things are different now. You don’t need to do as much as you did before. There are other people on your squad.”

But I’m the Hero, you want to say. Heroes are supposed to save the day, aren’t they?

Knights help save the day too.

You let Mrs. Bahr pat your knee for a long time. She seems content to let you think, her energy a pleasant hum next to you. A knot is untying in your chest. If you don’t hunt, it’s not the end of everyone. There will still be the funds from the Lord. Sarah’s always been excellent at stretching those as far as they need to go. And, if they aren’t enough, there’s something different this year. The Bahrs are here.

“You’d help us even if you’re only going to adopt one of us?” you ask.

Mrs. Bahr’s lips thin. She looks sad, but hides it quickly. “We’re Knights,” she says. “Even if we are retired. We’ll be here the moment you need us.”

You don’t hope. Hope is traumatic. But…

You believe her.

--------

(Part 2) (part 3)

--------

Thanks for reading! There will be a new part of Hope and the Hero every Friday!

If you'd like to read the whole story now, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

There's also a new story up there, a sequel to my Dandelion villain story (X)

Summary: You are free of mind control for the first time in a year. The only things standing between you and your revenge are the heroes.

[pahtoosh]

baker's convention

[image ID: a gif from infinity war of steve hugging bucky. /.end ID]

masterlist

18+

wc: 1900 words

warnings: food. reader gets picked up by steve. i kinda gave our baba anxiety(sorry)

a/n: i am SO proud of this! i hope you all love it! and i am very happy to expand the chef/baker universe! i sprinkled in a hint at a future fic with baker!nat, but let me know if you guys have any suggestions for our other friends!

pairing: chef!daddy!bucky x gn!little!reader

summary: bucky takes you to a baker's convention and you get to try new creations from his closest friends. special appearances from natasha, sam, and steve!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾

Bucky helped you put on your lanyard and nametag at the convention center’s entrance. He knew you could do it yourself, but he was stalling and needed something to occupy his shaky hands. He straightened out your shirt, another nervous habit of his. 

“Are you excited, bubba?”

“Yes! So excited, Daddy.” 

“Good, good. Daddy’s excited too.”

He kept fiddling with your clothes and tried not to think about how nervous he was for today. You’d met his baker buddies before, but never all at once, in one day. And never in such a crowded place. 

He wasn’t worried because of you; he was worried about all the things beyond his control. What if the convention was too overwhelming? What if you two got separated? What if a stranger was mean to you? Breathe, Bucky. Breathe. 

“Daddy?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I can have all the sweets I want today, right?”

Bucky laughed, taken aback by your question.

“Our minds are in two different places, honeybun.” He stopped messing with your clothes and kissed your forehead. “Yes, you can have all the sweets you want if you remember your manners–and if you give me a big hug right now.”

You squealed and wrapped your arms around Bucky, squeezing him with all your might. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Bucky was starting to feel a bit better. As usual, you were able to calm his nerves and remind him that he had nothing to worry about. He was a good caregiver. If you got overwhelmed, he would know the signs and how to help you. If you got lost, he had plenty of friends and colleagues who knew you, loved you, and would do anything to help. If a stranger tried ruining your day, he was more concerned with what you could do to them than what they could do to you. 

While you were hugging Bucky as hard as you could, you were also helping slow down his heart rate and the other physical signs of his stress. He was finally prepared to go in.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Yes! Yes! I’m so ready!” 

You swung your interlocked hands back and forth as you and Bucky walked through the doors and down the long hallway that led to the convention center.

The sight of the many vendors and their stalls selling baked goods stopped you in your tracks. There were more than you could count. It seemed as if there were endless rows of cookies, cupcakes, pies, and happy people enjoying the art of baking. 

Bucky noticed a friend giving you a slight wave to get your attention. He gently tugged your hand. 

“Do you wanna go over there, honey? That booth looks good.”

You looked at the booth and gasped, then walked as fast as you could to get there, tugging Bucky along behind you. You were by no means as gentle with Bucky as he had been with you earlier. He laughed good-naturedly as you practically pulled his arm out of its socket. 

“Natty!”

“Hey there, firecracker.” 

Bucky greeted her with a nod. “Natalia.”

“Buchanan.” She turned to face you again. “I saw you pulling your Daddy back there. I could teach you this trick if you re-”

Bucky covered your ears with his hands and gave his friend a bewildered look. “You’re not teaching them that,” he whisper shouted. 

Natasha stifled a laugh while Bucky took his hands away from your ears and tried to redirect your attention. “Which of these treats do you wanna try first, bun?”

“Can I have one of the cakes, please?”

“Comin’ right up.” She handed you a small plate with a square piece of cake and two forks. Bucky motioned for you to take the first bite. Your eyes widened in delight. The cake was so delicate and soaked in a sweet milk. The cake itself was sightly sour, but the sweet milk and ganache topping balanced the whole dessert. 

“What is this?”

“It’s bird’s milk cake. Do you like it?”

“Mhm!” You went in for another bite. 

“I have something else for you to try too.” Natasha reached beside her and handed you and Bucky another plate with two small, potato-like objects. “This is called kartosha.”

You tried pronouncing this new word before taking a bite. Once again, you were struck by how beautifully simple and balanced the dessert was. Bittersweet cookie crumbles were combined with sweet, sticky condensed milk.

“It’s so good!”

“I’m glad you think so.” Natasha looked like she was going to say more, but then a special someone caught her eye. She leaned over to whisper in your ear. “I think someone’s been stealing looks and wondering when you’re going to visit their booth.”

You whipped your head around and saw Sam look quickly in the other direction, as if he was pretending that he hadn’t been looking at you earlier. He had a mischievous smile on his face though, and his eyes wandered to you for a second before darting back. He rocked back and forth on his heels and even began to whistle a little. You giggled at his attempts to look casual.

You turned to Bucky. “Daddy, can we go to Sammy’s booth?”

“Sure can, let’s say bye to Nat first.”

“Bye, Natty! Thank you for the cake and kartosha!”

“You’re welcome.” She walked around the booth to give you a goodbye hug. “You have to come visit the cafe soon, okay? The kitties miss you and I need some help from my little decorator.”

“I will!” You waved goodbye and then skipped to Sam’s booth. 

He was still putting on his oblivious act. 

“Sammy, hi!”

“Oh, hey! I didn’t even see you there!”

You laughed and shook your head. “Nuh uh, I saw you looking!”

“Alright, alright, ya caught me. But once you see the show I’ve got planned for you, you’ll understand.”

“A show?” you asked, bouncing excitedly.

“Yup. A whole show. Tell me something, do you like caramel?” He took a step to where his burner stove was.

“Yeah!” 

“Okay well this isn’t exactly caramel, but if you like caramel, you’ll like this.” He put a small pan on the stove and turned on the heat. “We’ll start off with a little butter, some cinnamon, and brown sugar.” Sam effortlessly dropped and sprinkled the ingredients into the pan as he listed them off. He gave the mixture a stir, shaking the pan at the same time like a pro.

“Now I don’t know if you like bananas. But if you don’t, you’ll like them after this.” He put a small handful of slices into the pan and coated them in the sauce. He turned off the stove. 

“Alright, here’s the real show. I need y’all to take one step back so you’re behind that red tape on the floor.”

You and Bucky did as he said. 

“Perfect, thank you. Now these bananas just need a little more juice.” He poured a small amount of clear amber liquid into the pan. “And they could also use a little more heat.” He flicked a lighter just to the side of the pan, setting all of the amber liquid aflame. He shook the pan back and forth, flipping the bananas in the flaming sauce. You watched the fire, absolutely mesmerized by how it shifted and how Sam had so much control over the volatile force. He kept the whole thing moving, like it was a choreographed dance between him and the flaming pan where he was the leader. Slowly, the flames died down and the bananas were left in a glistening sauce.

“THAT WAS THE COOLEST THING EVER!” you screamed, clapping your hands and jumping up and down. “How did you do that?!”

“A lot of practice, okay? Don’t ever try this at home.”

You nodded. “I’ll just watch you do it every day.”

Sam laughed. “If you boost my ego like this every time, I’ll do this whenever you want. You ready to try the bananas now?”

“Yes please!”

“Alright, and one more very important question.” He halted and looked at you seriously. “Do you want ice cream?”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡

Sam gave you and Bucky two beautiful bowls of bananas foster, he called it. He grinned from ear to ear as you asked him endless questions. You wanted to talk more(and ask for another serving), but a crowd full of people wanting to see Sam’s show had formed. You thanked him profusely and waved goodbye nearly your entire walk to the next booth, until you had to turn the corner and could no longer see your friend. Luckily, Bucky was holding your other hand and leading the way to make sure you didn’t bump into anyone or get lost.

You were about to mourn the end of the best time of your life, when you saw another friend waving to you excitedly.

“Stevie!”

You skipped to his booth and he met you in the middle, picking you up for a bone-crushing hug. 

“I missed you, bug!”

“Easy, Rogers. Bubba’s full of sweets and ice cream.”

Steve set you down gently and fixed your clothes that he had messed up. “Sorry, bubba, sorry. Wait–you had ice cream already?”

“Uh huh! We went to Sam’s booth!”

“Aw, you went to Sam’s booth before mine? That’s not fair!” he whined. He put a hand over his chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart, bubba.”

“And he gave me a fire show.”

“And he gave you a fire show?” Steve pretended to cry, putting his head in his hands and allowing sobs to run through his body. 

“Stevieee, c’mon!” You wrapped your arms around him and patted his back. “Do you know what Sammy didn’t give to me?”

“What?” Steve asked, still pouting. 

“Two hugs!”

Steve stopped his crocodile tears and returned your embrace, swinging you side to side to hear your giggles. 

“I guess the hugs make up for me not having any fire. And I’m the best hugger you know, right?”

“I-”

“Let’s go see the sweets I have for you!” he said, cutting you off. He carried you on his hip for the short walk to his booth and set you down at the front of it, because only vendors were allowed in the behind area.

Steve stepped behind the display and fixed his apron. Before he spoke, he puffed out his chest and held out his hands in a theatrical manner.

“Welcome to a slice of paradise! We have every pie you can think of! Apple, pumpkin, pecan, key lime, cherry, strawberry–every American classic! And for the non-pie lovers, I have cheesecakes, tarts, and the best rice krispie treats made with my Ma’s secret recipe.” He ended his speech with a wink.

“Wow! There’s so many! I don’t know which one to choose.” You looked at Bucky for assistance. 

“Lucky for you, my little bug, I have a sampler platter!” Steve presented you with a plate of many small squares of everything he was selling, all with different colored toothpicks. “You can try these out and when you decide the one you want, let me know and I’ll serve you a whole slice.”

You giddily took the sampler plate and tried all the samples with Bucky, giving Steve feedback after each bite. When you finished trying all of the sweets, you couldn’t pick just one to have a full slice of.

“Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have another sample plate, please?”

“Sure, but don’t you want a whole slice of your favorite one?”

“I can’t choose a favorite! They’re all so good.”

Steve smiled proudly. “Alright, one more sampler platter for the charmer with the grouchy daddy.”

Bucky grunted while you giggled. “I have one more question.”

Steve nodded while he arranged your next plate. “What’s up?”

“Can I have a scoop of ice cream too? I need to try all of them with it, for science.”

[tuliptired]

Ello! Hope Im not a bother, but i was hoping to make a one-shot request? I looked around and it looks like you are still taking requests as of the moment, very sorry if I missed something.

Anyways, if its not too much trouble, could you write Egon Spengler x Baker Y/N? I think that would be a fun dynamic!

If thats not to your liking, what about Egon x Shy Y/N?

Love your works, I check the ghostbusters tag daily to see if youve written anything new. Thank you so much, love ya have a great day and night!!!

How Sweet It Is (To be Loved by You)

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Baker!GN!Reader

It's never too much trouble...no idea if I've used this gif before

did yall hear about the SNL biopic btw oh my gahh...

Better formatting on Ao3! (italics)

Your relationship started with a cupcake. As the story goes, told lovingly by your now mutual friends, there was a bust at a retirement home, and one of the caregivers insisted on sending the boys home with a treat in addition to the hefty bill. Demanded, actually, practically shoving a metal tin full of pastry into Egon’s hands as he attempted to discreetly sneak away.

“Jackpot,” Peter leaned over, happily surprised as nimble fingers opened the lid. The smell of sugary sweets wafted through the car, prompting Winston to extend his hand to the backseat, palm soon full of muffin. Egon was patient, letting everyone take something for themselves, before finally deciding on a blue-iced chocolate cupcake, sweet tooth waiting to be satisfied.

“Where’d this come from?” Ray, Peter, and Winston stood in the kitchen, confused at the spread of different colored boxes and containers. Upon further inspection, they were full of even more cupcakes, each the same blue iced chocolate flavor. Egon sat with his hands folded on the countertop, unfazed at their reactions to his display like any true man of science would be.

He made a tick mark on a long list of names, clipboard somewhere in the organized, delicious chaos. “If you must know, I’m testing every bakery in the area to find the one I ate that evening. I’ve yet to find it.”

Ray shrugged, taking note of just how many locations he had procured food from. “Not the weirdest thing you’ve done for a result,” he admitted.

“Good food’ll do that to you,” Winston laughed, Peter reaching over to gauge how mad Egon would get if he tried to take a sample from one of his possible matches.

Egon didn’t look up, flipping to the next page. “Go ahead, those are the rejects. They'd end up in the trash, anyway.”

Peter peeled away the paper, going through the motions of ripping the bottom of the cake and placing it over the top of the frosting. “Rejects.” he parroted plainly. “What’re you gonna do when you find the right store? Stand in the window?”

He glared up at him above his glasses. “No, I’ll buy a half dozen and go on with my day,” he unfolded a wax lined box, “so if you could leave me to my research?” Research being, going down a line of cupcakes. They each exchanged glances, before filing out. Egon could be just as tenacious as everyone else, when he felt like it.

Except, that tenacity wavered in the face of unfamiliarity. The only reason Egon was willing to go in your bakery to begin with is because the others had forced him. “Don’t be a baby,” as Venkman had put it. He finally found the match, in fact he had found it a few days ago. But he took a glance at the bustling establishment on the day in which he set out on his own, and got cold feet. Especially when he accidentally locked eyes with the smiling artisan while he just stood in the window.

His friends had managed to shove him towards the counter without a second thought. The same person he’d seen through the tall window was behind the counter now, greeting them all kindly. The bandana you had used to keep your hair in check must’ve been failing to do its job, evident by the flour near your temple, caught in a few strands. Egon’s fingers twitched.

Peter flicked him on the lower back when he failed to respond like a typical customer, making Egon come-to and clear his throat. “May I get a half dozen chocolate?” he asked robotically.

“You may,” you grinned at his grammar, “but, chocolate what?”

Egon’s ability to speak stopped short at his misstep, unable to let out anything but unintelligible stammers, and Egon never stammers. “Cupcakes, please,” Ray spoke up for him, catching wind.  

You nodded, moving to the display rack to place his order in a smaller, blue box. Peter wasn’t content with how smoothly this interaction was going as he watched on with a bored expression. “Funny story, actually,” he caught your attention through the framework.

You laughed at how it made him look like he was in a horizontal jail cell. “Yeah?”

Peter raised Egon’s stiff arm for him at the elbow. “We walk in one night and catch Egon with at least 20 different cupcakes, trying to find yours ‘cause he missed it so much.” he regaled.

He may have caught you blushing. Were you blushing? He shouldn’t stare at business owners when they were just trying to work. “Well,” you started folding the corners of the parcel, “assuming you liked them- and you guys are pretty important to the city…” You held them out to him with two hands. “Just take them. No charge.”

Egon felt like there was smoke rising from the top of his head, or the espresso machine, as he shuffled out, and you leaned over the counter to call after him: “Come back anytime, for whatever! On the house!” 

The rest happened slowly, but surely, and you enjoyed it thoroughly. On an earlier morning, you and your pubescent employee were handling the typical rush you got around breakfast. Between prepping, a small burn from the oven, packing orders, ringing people up, and a quick trip to the corner-grocery for more milk, you finally had a spare minute to breathe, both hands pressing into the counter.

A blur of beige and a trail of smog put an end to your mini-relaxation, and you hurried over to the door. “Stantz! Spengler!” you beckoned before they could turn the corner.

Like children, they found their way to your storefront, though Egon looked rather apprehensive with a used trap dangling from his gloved fist. “Good morning, guys,” you urged them inside, “did you eat yet?”

“We really should get going.” Egon said after Ray greeted you. Most of the sickly smell from the trap was left outside, and it was too covered up by the scent of sugar and warmth that everyone but you swore clung to the bakery for you to worry about it driving away customers.

You ignored his protests, crossing behind the counter. “Eat in the morning or you’ll crash in the afternoon,” you started pouring two cups of hot coffee.

“There’s no need-” you interrupted with a hand. “We’re fine,” he continued anyway.

Ray’s stomach betrayed his friend’s wishes. “Something small wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Listen to your friend, Egon.” you warned, adding a bit of whipped cream to both cups to literally sweeten the deal. “You need to eat.”

He frowned, but you didn’t care much. “We have a Class lll in our hands, now is hardly the time for-” you cut him off again, stuffing his mouth with a blueberry danish. As he annoyedly chewed, you procured a paper bag from the back, wrapping his hand around the handle.

“Too bad I already packed for everyone,” you patted his knuckles when he acquiesced, catching sight of what was inside with a small smile. “You’re crabby when you’re hungry.”

Egon opened his mouth to respond, but the contraption in his left hand started beeping. Are they supposed to beep? You’d never seen them do so before. It seemed as if the two experts themselves hadn’t either. 

You stood on your toes to give him a parting kiss, Ray grabbing both paper cups in the meantime before you could start shooing them out. “Go, go- don’t let that thing loose in here. And swing by later, okay?”

He followed your lips when you pulled away, but the ominous beeping drove him to the door and down the street. You sighed to yourself, already missing him. None of the regulars in your store seemed to pay any mind to the local celebrities- or the weapons they had strapped to themselves, as Egon floated in and out during different parts of his day at least once a week.

Egon knocked on the glass door, soft light and music slipping through as he got your attention. When you let him in, the distinct whiff of cookies enveloped him like the warm temperature of your little shop. It was his favorite part of visiting you, apart from actually getting to see you. “How was today?” he spoke over the soft jazz that you apologetically turned down.

“Better,” you were about to run a Crisco covered hand through the front of your hair before you stopped yourself, “better.” Egon only then noticed how many cookies you had managed to make for having only closed an hour ago. “I have more in the oven,” you said from the back wall with the smaller front oven while you hurriedly took out a hot tray with a mitt and put a cool one in.

It wasn’t just cookies, but brownies, sweetbreads, and cinnamon rolls. “Are you…restocking?”

You laughed, a quarter manically and another quarter incredulously, and started to peel cooked pastry off of baking sheets. “If anything, we have too much stock.” you paused your fervor, frowning at your display case’s abundance. “I’ll send you home with some- give them to your clients or eat them or something.” 

You were barely done shutting the sliding glass when you popped up, clapping your hands once and frankly startling him. “Pies! I know what I need to make now! I’ll make some pies and maybe a cake and we can head home.” Before you could disappear into the kitchen, he stepped in your way, two soothing hands on your shoulders.

“You’re stress baking.” 

Egon couldn’t hide his amusement at your familiar despondent expression, as if you were coming down from a high. “Was it that obvious?”

“Somewhat,” he stroked up and down your arm, steering you to the stool you kept tucked away behind the register and pulling up a chair for himself on the other side. “What’s wrong?”

He enjoyed the chairs you had because of their structural variety, and the fact they didn’t make him feel like a giant. 

You slumped your head into your since-dried hands, groaning out of frustration. “It’s just the season, I guess. A ton of people come by, bringing their dumb boyfriends-” you paused, realizing what you said, “no offense.”

“None taken.”

“-And they come looking at our stuff to see if we’re good enough for, like, baby showers and weddings and all that.”

A car passed by on the street, definitely above the city’s speed limit for a business area. “I assume that’s a good thing?”

“It’s great,” you sat up, “we want people to pick us. But it means everything has to look great, and we have to get ready for half a million custom orders.”

That would be a partial reason for the sudden uptick in inventory, combined with the pressure to make a good first impression. But you were working so aimlessly hard that you looked crazed, all by yourself. “Your employees aren’t willing to help?” Egon questioned.

You stood, addressing the heaps of different cookies, the only creation of yours without a home. “They are. But they’re kids- I can’t work them that hard. It’s probably illegal, too. They won’t be around for the next couple of days anyway.”

He could sympathize with your plight- backed into a seasonal corner that business owners just had to get used to. “I’m sorry,” Egon offered, “I’m not as skilled in your trade, but is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

You smiled your first genuine smile since he arrived. “There is, actually,” your tone was excited as you moved to the freezer, “just let me finish these and I’ll fill you in.”

Egon would’ve stopped you from continuing to try to work, but he relaxed when you brought out pre-prepared bags of icing and miscellaneous confectionaries, knowing that decoration was the more relaxing aspect of the art. 

He both sat in comfortable quiet as you put all your focus into icing, piping, and arranging.  It was pleasant, knowing that you had something so ardent that you cared so deeply about, even if it was dismissed as a mere hobby while you were close to collapsing to exhaustion in the bakery you financed on your own. It was a mix of career and craft- one of the many reasons he had grown to give you his utmost respect.

You were eventually done, making the task of embellishing countless treats look effortless. You handed him a cookie, which he gladly took. “I need you to be honest,” you counted on his affinity for sweets. He took a bite, surveying the dessert after the initial pleasure your baking always brought him.

“Raspberry compote,” Egon took a second, “and coffee icing.”

“Good job!” you scribbled something down on a spare slip of paper after springing the register drawer open. “Rating?”

“10/10”

“Honest.”

“That is my honesty. But if you wanted the unweighted scale, 7/10. The two flavors balance each other very well.”

You passed him another, which he promptly ate without being asked to. “On the crumbly side. Is that intentional?”

A nod. “A little less butter than usual. Old ladies tend to like those.”

He put a hand on his chin contemplatively. “6/10- marmalade. A softer version would get a higher placement, it would be a shame to lose interest from those who don’t fit the demographic.”

You copied down what he said, seemingly happy with any sort of feedback. “And here I thought I’d have to help you cross the street.”

The night went on like that for a while, and Egon grinned to himself at the parallels he had only just noticed- another mix of career and craft, now inquiry and indulgence. You looked like a proper scientist- or, a food scientist, scrawling down notes and numbers that he’s sure only you would be able to decode. He felt the corners of his face dimple in a familiar smile while he watched you- something he’d found himself doing much, much more.

“What?” you raised an eyebrow, suspicious of his joy.

“Nothing,” Egon excused himself, “you just look incredibly nice.”

 You squeezed the hand that he rested on the counter, silently appreciative. “Thanks- for that, and for helping me out. Let me get you home before you barf.”

He’d learned to live with the indecencies, helping you tidy up the best he could without breaching the system of organization you had. When you returned from the back with your personal things, he let you loop your arm around his for the semi-short journey home.

Egon only let you go so you could lock the door, and he stared at your back for the entire time that you did. “If I were having a baby shower, I’d come here.”

There were practically stars in your eyes. “Really?” 

“Really.” You planted a gratuitous kiss to the side of his face, before setting off towards his apartment.

Over the course of a few days, your boyfriend showed up earlier in order to take you into work, and keep you company as you tried to quell the impending anxiety. When regulars faded out and new faces came in- possible clients, you assured him with a non convincing tone that he had a job, too. If your ego was bigger, you’d be bragging about the compliments and inquiries your store got, not to mention the referrals to friends regarding special upcoming events. But, entrepreneurship had taught you to be humble, so you were resigned to spilling it all over a phone call to the firehouse.

One morning, you forced Egon out before anyone could arrive, asserting that he had a day off and he should find a way to relax. He asserted that this was how he relaxed, but you had a key to the front door and he didn’t, so that solved that. 

Not long after he was gone, you were hastily punching his number in, bouncing on your heels and out of breath.

“Hello?"

“Rich girl- eloping- needs a wedding cake- lots of money,” you forced out like you were out of air, already seeing dollar signs in tandem with the minutes you were losing. “But I have a crazy favor to ask.”

Very soon, “OPEN” was flipped to “CLOSED (sorry)” and you put on your serious business apron. Egon stood behind you, unsure of what to do as you jumped from here to there, double checking that you had absolutely everything you needed.

You only stopped when you realized that he wasn’t in the proper attire. “C’mon, Spengler,” you chastised him while cinching the strings of a smock around his waist.

“Game plan,” you led him to the back where all the industrial sized equipment was, “three tiers, green and pink, white cake. She gave me creative freedom, so I’m kinda flying blind.”

Egon’s eyes were on you as you laid out a few large bowls. “Have you ever…made a wedding cake on such short notice? I assumed they take days.”

“They do! And they’re the one thing I swore to never sell!” He looked disappointed in you, but you weren’t fazed, grabbing both of his hands. “$1,500,” Egon’s eyes widen as you continued, “think of what that could buy.”

He pushed up the bridge of his glasses like a flustered schoolboy. “That’s…a lot of copper wiring.”

“So many new mixers! And without the down payment! That’s why we need to start while we already have the time.”

Realistically, it was more of you starting everything while Egon was subjected to measuring or throwing away eggshells. But, you eventually gave him bigger responsibilities, as there was no way you’d be done in time for the impromptu-wedding if you worked one-by-one. 

You turned from what you were doing after instructing him to mix the batter for the top layer, being met with his bare forearms, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“What?” Egon noticed your commotion halting. “Am I overmixing?” 

You didn’t answer, still staring at his toned arms. He should help out more often- your stand mixer cutting out on you must’ve been a blessing in disguise. Your blatant ogling was cut short when he stopped his ministrations, resting the whisk against the lip of the bowl.

“Don’t get distracted.” He tried to sound condemnatory, but it was hard to feel scolded when the scholar had on one of your teenaged employee’s spare pink bibs around his front and he was almost bent over the edge of the counter space in the midst of his focus.

You could breathe a little easier when the timer went off for the tiniest layer’s completion in the biggest oven. You took the searing pan out carefully, and your worry spiked again when you saw how dark the unfrosted dessert was along the top. You went through a list of things that might’ve gone wrong-  was the oven at the right temperature? Setting? You definitely let it bake for the right time. It wasn’t until you saw a pair of little cylinders, tucked away in the havoc, that you put two and two together.

“Which one of these did you use?”

Egon looked like a mix of confused and concerned. “This one, baking soda.”

That’s how he got put out your kitchen for a considerable amount of time, until he knocked at the round window separating you both.

“Are you sorry?”

A pause. “Not anymore than I was 20 minutes ago.”

“I’m locking the door.”

He was allowed back in after a long and rehearsed apology. Soon, all tiers were baked, except for the base, and you were aching all over. The whole cake process never got any less demanding on you.

Egon must’ve seen how you stretched your arm across your chest before you tried to continue on anything. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’ll be fine- just sore.” you answered truthfully, before slightly jumping at the feeling of hands wrapping around your middle.

“Take a break,” he herded you to a folding chair you kept in there- the only chair. You were slotted in between his knees, thoroughly confused. He only got like this every blue moon.

It did feel great to be off your feet for a second, despite your cushy sneakers. “What’re you getting at?” 

His strong hands made work of your tense biceps. “Nothing lascivious. I just think you should save your energy for the important part,” you stifled a noise at his doctoral tone and the way his thumbs kneaded at the space in between your shoulder blades, “and you’ve been working very hard.”

“Baking makes you a freak,” you scoffed, but hedonistically let him continue to dote on you.

Soon it was time to keep moving, attractive masseuse or otherwise. You put Egon in charge of coloring the buttercream while you ran out to the store for the second time in only a few days, making a mental note to use some of the bride-to-be’s payment to keep a consistent supply of the little things.

When you returned, though, it wasn’t as you had expected. You picked up the metal bowl full of neon icing incredulously. “I said green, not snot!”

“I made green,” he didn’t budge, not seeing how gaudy this would look in the middle of a reception hall.

You pushed a finger in between his brows. “You’re such a guy,” you remarked, regardless of your own gender, as you hassled him out of the way. “Watch.” 

With a bit of red, the bright green dulled into a paler color, fit for a wedding. “Can I trust you with pink?” you asked as if he was a child.

Egon’s expression was unreadable. “No promises.”

Half of the green was shoveled into piping bags when he was finished, presenting the baby pink mixture to you like a project would be presented to a teacher. “That’s better,” you started, taking the bowl while he kept the spatula. You’d assumed that Egon was going to wash it or scrape off the excess or something, but your eyes squeezed shut as something cold and tacky hit your nose.

Frosting, pink frosting. His audacity. You took the green spatula, getting him back on the cheek. That led to him getting you back on the forehead, ear, chin, and eventually some strays ended up in the corner of your mouth, which he was more than happy to take care of. Baking really made him a freak, you thought. You probably shouldn’t be kissing over someone’s wedding memorabilia, but you shortly noticed that was the icing for each tier and its decoration. You lost an hour cleaning and starting from scratch on the buttercream, steering clear of each other in a respective corner each.

You had another hour to eat a late dinner while each tier chilled in the freezer, setting the white icing you painstakingly leveled to their surface area. When you returned, it was time for the assembly, the second most dreaded process. “I’m scared,” you confessed, just about to push down the first dowel.

Egon got eye level with the top, squinting. “You’re just about perfect.”

Your nerves got the better of you. “How can you tell?” 

“I calculated.”

He was to keep calculating until all three cakes were secure on each other, bringing on the actually grueling part: decoration. You could design anything easily, after years of practice on your skills and ability to freehand- but a wedding cake was just so intimidating. That was part of the reason you vowed to never try again, how easy failure was staring you down in the form of little white fondant flowers. Egon let you take the reins on this, disappearing from your narrow field of vision. You honed in your knowledge of swirls, mini roses, and the drape style that was still in fashion among traditional couples. You were bent in all sorts of ways to make sure every bit of sugar that left the tip of the plastic bag came out perfect, for a perfect pair of newlyweds. Or newlyweds with perfect pocketbooks.

Time got away from you when the final detail was placed, and you stepped away like it was a bomb. “Is it done? Are we done?” you looked for confirmation. “How does it look?”

Egon’s torso stopped you from running off somewhere. “It looks perfect.”

The giant thing was stowed away to wait until you were scheduled to drop it off the next morning, and a weight was taken off your chest. You let the faucet run over materials, mind somewhere else with the rush of running water.

“It’s so sweet when it’s all done,” you spoke up, scrubbing crusted batter off of a tin, “weddings feel so magical.” 

You thought back to the agreement you made with your boyfriend of a handful of years: nix a big ceremony, celebrate with friends when the time felt right. The time always felt right to you; you’d drag him to the courthouse at the drop of a hat. Perhaps there was an even right-er time out there, written somewhere in your future.

Egon wiped down all the surfaces. “I agree.” he voiced from across the counter, taking a pause. “You’re not…angry with me? For taking as long as I am?”

You laughed at that, drying your hands. You crossed over to him, a hand on his chest. “Not at all. I trust you.” He had ditched the tie at some point after you had to make a new batch of icing. “If you’re offering…”

“Give me some more time to make it special.”

You brushed away some of his hair that had come loose in the heat of your scullery. “How much more time?” your voice was soft.

Egon thought about it for a moment. “What’s 5 more years?” He laughed heartily at the groan you let out, resting his head on yours.

“Really?” your voice broke over the phone. “I’m sorry…I’ve never- I don’t know,” you forced yourself to take a shallow breath, “I’ll work on getting your deposit back.”

You didn’t know what to think or feel when you ended the call, but thoughts of wasted hours, materials, lost profit, all flooded your mind as you attempted to calm yourself. You rested your head underneath where the phone was mounted on the wall, rubbing at your temples to sedate an oncoming headache.

“What happened?” Egon asked at your back, with you again in the early morning as he scored another day off. You didn’t turn to face him, trying your best to blink back embarrassing tears.

“She canceled. We made the cake for nothing- there’s no wedding, I-” 

Egon was on a knee, in the middle of your homely bakery. Your frustration evolved into pure confusion. “What’re you-”

There was a blue, velvet box in his hands with a glinting band inside of it. Before he could get a word out, you were on the floor too, tears free flowing. “You can’t do this now,” you clutched the fabric of his pants when he moved to hold you. “I look horrible.”

His free hand dried your tears, though more would keep on appearing in their wake. “I’m sorry this is so overdue.”

Your hands gently held onto his jaw to know this was real. “When was the right time?” 

“A long, long time ago. I just needed to find a way to make it special.” He looked hesitant before continuing, “I hope you don’t mind having made your own wedding cake.”

You blinked. “You’re the worst!” you joked exasperatedly, falling with him into a hug on the floors you were happy you mopped. “That was all you?”

“Why do you suppose her down payment was a multiple of 18?”

“They didn’t.” 

“Consider it a group gift, I suppose.” Egon smiled underneath you. You sat in the giddy silence of two people, soon to be wed, when he gingerly asked the question

“Will you?”

Your boyfriend- fiancé, went through so much trouble to make the moment one you could look back on happily. Who could refuse?

“I will.”

[ur-fav-is-agere]

Cofagrigus from Pokemon

Is a baker/papa caregiver!

[hitchyboi]

🟢Dating Ermac Headcanons #1🟢

He/Him - They/Them: 10,000 souls.

You kind played caregiver until you stumbled into a relationship with Ermac

Literally, you found him face down on the forest floor by your house

With his pale grey complexion you genuinely thought he was a corpse someone dumped and was second away from calling the police until you heard him groan

After that you brought him back to your house to check on him and got slapped in the face with Earthrealm, Outerworld, Telekinesis, 10,000 soul being bullshit. It was... a lot.

He has a habit of staring. Silently. All the time. Because of all the souls inside of him all trying to control the body it takes a while for him to form a solid thought to express.

In the meantime he stares and watches, and admires. He loves to watch their partner. Doesn't matter what they're doing, as long as he can watch and admire the way they move, speak, smile.

Levitates fucking everywhere. This boi will never put his feet on the ground, just silently floating his way around and scaring the daylights out of you cause he's silent.

He is a great listener, he wishes to learn more about the worlds that he finds himself in and find what his purpose within all that is. So talk his ear off about anything and everything, he'll be intently listening.

Rocky relationship with food. He's quite good at cooking as some of the soul's inside of hin were avid chefs and bakers. Though he isnt able to taste anything, food isn't really something the body needs. He could eat but there wouldn't be any reason too. He's content with cooking for you if you want though.

He has multiple other talents he's innately good at because of all their souls. Cooking, Baking, Drawing, Sewing, they can recite the most poetic sentences at times as well.

Not Dancing

Frequant spasm like moments, times where the souls in him are so restless he momentarily struggle to hold the body.

[19emma75]

my fav frerard fics

Ok so here’s my grank fic rec list!! I’ve put links to each fic on ao3 for easy access + most if not all have nsfw/explicit elements so be warned!! I’ve written afew tags next to each one so u get an idea but no spoilers ok here we gooo

⭐️ = fav of all time/must read

- The Best Part of My Day by pixie_revolver - office co-workers au

- ⭐️pinkish by antspaul - kid fic, fake relationship to lovers

- Black Market Blood by autoschediastic - short vamp!gee/human!frank

- ⭐️The Mess We've Made by ViciousVenin - pencey era frank, strangers to lovers, angst with happy ending

- Life as a Process by ViciousVenin - fav vamp!gee fic, college roommates au

- Happy Together by MorningGloryxxx - focus on mental health/lgbt themes/addiction, eventual happy ending

- A Splitting Of The Mind by Shoved2agree - yall already know, cw for heavy mental health focus

- Unwanted Thoughts by ViciousVenin - touring, pining, friends to lovers

- Skin of the Canvas by sinsense - art school/nude model au

- ⭐️Unholyverse trilogy by Bexless - holy grail of fics, priest!gee, demons, stigmata (you've probably already read this ik)

- ⭐️The Anatomy of a Fall by novembersmith - supernatural, high school au

- ''that was easy'' by metaleaterz - 'the staples fic', they just work at staples and its cute ok

- another superstition by metaleaterz - friends to lovers houseflipping au

- ⭐️Crossed Out by Haze - time travel and blood magic!! so incredible it should be made into a tv show umbrella academy style

- ⭐️In a Column of Lights by xobarriers - entomologist!gee/director!frank, SO wholesome and sweet and lovely

- Did You Miss Me? Cause I Missed You by LiberXI - wholesome/funny/smutty friends to lovers college au

- ⭐️Nothing Above Nothing Below by LiberXI - pencey era strangers to lovers with a supernatural twist, LOVE the writing style sm

- You Will Leave a Mark by brooklinegirl - short but intense pencey era strangers to lovers

- rough ‘round the edges by starryfrens - sick fic with gee as frank’s caregiver, heavy and heartwarming

- Living on a prayer by beforethesungoesdown, Kitoko_kun - priest x priest with expected amounts of catholic guilt and pining

- Before The Second Show by CharredLips - sweet + fluffy bullets era mutual pining

- ⭐️Wishing You Were a Ghost by pixie_revolver - “right person wrong time”, angst with happy ending, heartbreaking but amazing

- ⭐️Kinktober 2023 by insusurro - all parts set in the same universe, surprisingly heartwarming for the subject matter, great characterisation

- ⭐️Moth to Flame (or Whatever) by onceuponamoon - insanely perfect florist au

- Companion by onceuponamoon - workplace au (carer/office worker)

- Buy Handmade + Bread and Butter by jjtaylor - adorable artist/baker au

- ⭐️Paris!Verse trilogy by vesna - artist gerard/record label owner frank, INSANELY good characterisation, so beautiful and emotional

- Time Travel ‘verse by ladyfoxxx - funpoison/frankghoul/rrr time travel shenanigans, amazing and kind of heartbreaking

- Christmas Miracle by insusurro - wholesome and festive teacher au

- Choosing My Confessions series by pixie_revolver - kinky/wholesome priest au

- a constant record of disillusion by drapnel - non au realistic pre-bullets to post-summer sonic ‘04, heavy so read tags

- All Through The Night by LiberXI - bullets era meet cute

- ⭐️The Horror That I’m In by pixie_revolver - paramour estate, paranormal activity, frank goes through the horrors, angst with happy ending

updating periodically so keep an eye out <3

[johnpriceslamb]

🎀 - less than 500 words

𝓐𝓡𝓣𝓗𝓤𝓡 𝓜𝓞𝓡𝓖𝓐𝓝

❥︎ arthur w a feminine! gf

꒰ ❥ mini drabble ꒱

❥︎ shy greetings and sweet actions

꒰ ❥ Mary-Beth being a giant tease and a flirt to reader . hyper-feminine! reader . fem! reader . many pet names in use . awkward-written ending . quick luv stori . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . reader has a dada and a mama . 2.3k words ꒱

❥︎ presents from whom

꒰ ❥ hyper-feminine! reader . fem! reader . reader is implied to be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . love sick Arthur . 1.2k words . Very quick mention of wlw Sadie ꒱

❥︎ untitled (🎀)

꒰ ❥ hyper fem reader as usuuaaaal . fem ! reader . > 100 wordiez ꒱

❥︎ untitled2 (🎀)

꒰ ❥ mini babble . hyper-fem reader as usual -.- arthur being a bit jealous is a bit of an understatement ;3 . > 100 wordiez ꒱

❥︎ beloved caregiver

꒰ ❥ fem ! reader . little ! reader . Arthur Morgan if he was a caregiver/papa . fluff fluff fluff . cowboy papa ?! . reader is mentioned 2 have hair that allows itself to be brushed easily . OOC Arthur -.- . mini head cannons ꒱

❥︎ my hero

꒰ ❥ Hyper-fem(?) ! reader . female ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . gun-slinging mention . brute cowboy bf x shy princess gf . arthur morgan being a complete nut over u . harassment . attempted assault . not proof-read :P . very rushed ‘m sorriiii!!! . 1.6k wrds ꒱

❥︎ may I please sit on your lap?

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count ꒱

❥︎ always forever

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . hyper-fem ! reader . Arthur Morgan is a die-for 4 his sweetheart gf . OOC ! Arthur Morgan . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than character mentioned below . not proof-read . 1.0k wrdz ꒱

❥︎ caught (🎀)

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter den him . OOC ! Arthur maybe ? . flufflfufffluff . not proofread nor edited . ~ 500 wrdz ꒱

❥︎ fawn

꒰ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . crybbie reader sorraiiii . Karen’s a meanie pants but she loves reader . 1.1k wrd count. ꒱

❥︎ his fairy

꒰ ❥ hyper-feminine ! reader . female ! reader . reader is mentioned to be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . lovesick Arthur Morgan . super-shy reader . rugged cowboy bf x mini baker gf . fluff . Age gap implied . 7k words ꒱

❥︎ angelique

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . 1k wrd count. ꒱

❥︎ threaded elegance

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . very suggestive content w/ javier . close proximity . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars . poorly google translates spanish >.> . not proof read nor edited . wrd count/1.2k ꒱

❥︎ opposite attracts

꒰ ❥︎ In which Arthur Morgan is your husband / mini series ꒱

𝓒𝓗𝓐𝓡𝓛𝓔𝓢 𝓢𝓜𝓘𝓣𝓗

❥︎ Charles Smith as a caregiver (🎀)

꒰ ❥mini drabble ꒱

❥︎ Charles w a feminine! gf

꒰ ❥mini drabble ꒱

❥︎ ︎may I please sit on your lap?

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count ꒱

❥︎ threaded elegance

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . very suggestive content w/ javier . close proximity . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars . poorly google translates spanish >.> . not proof read nor edited . wrd count/1.2k ꒱

𝓙𝓐𝓥𝓘𝓔𝓡 𝓔𝓢𝓒𝓤𝓔𝓛𝓛𝓐

❥︎ may I please sit on your lap?

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count ꒱

❥︎ knight and shining

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned 2 be physically shorter than characters mentioned below . VERY SUGGESTIVE . No actual NSFW . 1k wrd count. ꒱

❥︎ threaded elegance

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . very suggestive content w/ javier . close proximity . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars . poorly google translates spanish >.> . not proof read nor edited . wrd count/1.2k ꒱

𝓙𝓞𝓗𝓝 𝓜𝓐𝓡𝓢𝓣𝓞𝓝

❥︎ may I please sit on your lap?

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count ꒱

❥︎ threaded elegance

꒰ ❥ female ! reader . hyper-feminine ! reader . very suggestive content w/ javier . close proximity . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars . poorly google translates spanish >.> . not proof read nor edited . wrd count/1.2k ꒱

𝓙𝓞𝓗𝓝 𝓟𝓡𝓘𝓒𝓔

❥︎ Papa Price (🎀)

꒰ ❥ mini drabble ꒱

❥︎ …Daddy. (🎀)

꒰ ❥ mini drabble ꒱

𝓖𝓗𝓞𝓢𝓣

❥︎ Ghost as a caregiver (🎀)

꒰ ❥ mini drabble ꒱

❥︎ sick days

꒰ ❥ littlespace ! reader . fem ! reader. afab ! reader . caregiver ! Simon Riley . sickiesickie reader :c . da snifliez . reader is mentioned 2 be physically smaller den simon . not proof-read . OOC !!! simon . 1.3k words ꒱

𝓚Ö𝓝𝓘𝓖

𝓚𝓡𝓤𝓔𝓖𝓔𝓡

[everettswritings]

Got an idea for a cute story with a dash of angst if you want

How Shadow milk became the caregiver of regressor y/n....imagine if he had freed himself from the tree (or somehow freed himself again after the events of the story) and began roaming around, doing his usual antics! He eventually reaches y/n's home town/village/well...just home. He does his antics and y/n gets so stressed out, they regress and start crying like a baby.

For Shadow milk...why do I imagine...instant switch flip. From chaotic scary jester mode...to instant funny dad mode...also can imagine Shadow milk just realizing y/n is a regressor and goes '....ok, I'm a dad now. This is my baby now. All mine.' Just instant adoption...releases everyone else because now 1000000% focus is on baby now XD.

Just think the total sudden 180 would be funny lol...

BTW to explain...dash of angst that instantly gets resolved is y/n being terrified of Shadow milk lol...like seeing him all scary with evil laughter and so on scaring y/n so much.

Whole fic time! I actually really love this idea so much, Shadow Milk accidentally adopting someone(especially Y/N) just sounds weirdly canon. (NSFW/Kink accounts DNI!)

Laughter echoed through the air of Beast-Yeast, the maniacal cackling was as loud as lightning and even more frightening than such. Somehow, some way, the Beast known as Shadow Milk Cookie had breached his prison and was now spreading horrific chaos across the land. Circus-y music was blaring loudly and the noises of various acts being performed by mind controlled cookies only added to the cacophony.

You were crouched down in the corner of your living room with your ears covered, paralyzed by fear and trying to fight off your littlespace. You naturally screamed when you heard and saw someone crashing into your home, and you couldn’t help but shake as those heterochromatic eyes locked onto you.

“Well, well, well! What do we have here?!” Laughed the jester causing this madness as he approached you, fully intending to pull you into this like everyone else. You couldn’t hold it back anymore and involuntarily went into littlespace, instantly bursting into scared tears… somehow it made the jester pause in his advance. A look of concern spread across his usually-grinning face as he saw your tears rolling down your cheeks. He felt a pang inside him; but a pang of what? Guilt? Regret? He couldn’t quite decipher it, as it was probably a mixture of many emotions- he couldn’t recall the last time he felt something other than anger or manic joy. He crouched down in an attempt to look less threatening, feeling another wave of this emotion crashing down as you looked over with misted eyes. The jester gave a weak smile, “Hey, lil’ one… It’s alright. You’re alright…” He reached out for you, but you shrunk away. He retracted his hand and paused to think of how to turn your frown upside down.

The Beast’s grin returned to their face as a lightbulb went off; a puppet show! A puppet show was the perfect idea! They pulled a couple puppets out of thin air, clearing their throat to do the appropriate voices, which caught your attention again. One puppet was a baker and the other was just an ordinary guy- where would this go? The baker puppet held up a cupcake with a sleepy face stitched into the felt: “Here you go!” The baker said “One dozin’ cupcake!”, the ordinary guy grumbled “I said one dozen cupcakes!”.

You couldn’t suppress your giggles. The bit was a little dumb, sure, but it was still funny! At least to a regressed you. Shadow Milk Cookie’s grin widened with genuine affection and he decided to keep going, he kept pulling out assorted puppets and performing silly skits with them in order to make you laugh. Eventually, you decided to finally approach the jester and threw your arms around him in a hug. Although Shadow Milk Cookie was a bit surprised, he couldn’t say no to seeing you smile or hugging you back.

“Thank you, you’ve been such a wonderful audience!” They laughed, giving your little head a pat and handing you a little kettle-corn to snack on. As you graciously munched on the sweet treat, they breathed a relieved sigh that you calmed down. Maybe that’s what the pang was- a paternal feeling. They pulled you onto their lap and ruffled your hair.

“I guess I’m a dad now, huh?” They grinned.

That’s all! Ahh! Loved this, loved this, LOVED THIS! Thank you for the request! Have a good one 🫶

[sleepy-harper]

cozy caregiver zoe baker moodboard 4 @dolly-doe